Elminster Enraged

fingered hand. Those fingers were reaching for … his wrist-of the hand he was using to grasp the butt of a still- sheathed wand.

Out from behind Gulkanun’s back, snake-swift, came his other hand, with a long needle in it, to jab that dusky drow hand.

“I suspected you’d try something, drow!” he said grimly. “I’ll-”

Her arms were closing around him, needle-transfixed hand and all, as he snarled and snatched out that wand, to feed her-

Nothing at all, as he stiffened and went silent. Frozen and helpless.

Elminster had flowed through feebly and vainly clawing dark elf fingers into Gulkanun-and overwhelmed the war wizard’s mind.

It took Manshoon some time to find any wizards at all in Hultail. Farmers taking slowly creaking carts to market could be seen everywhere, filling the muddy streets, but were well outnumbered by unhappily bawling rothe, goats, lambs, and oxen penned outside the fleshers’ and butcher’s yard. There was even activity at the wagon sheds, where a Moonsea-run wagon needed a new wheel and rails yestereve at the latest.

Yet there was no sign of the modest keep he’d expected to find. It wasn’t until he caught sight of a small tile-roofed stone cottage half-hidden under some sprawling old trees at the back of the moat-and-palisade- surrounded Watch yard that he saw what he was looking for-a line of wizards’ robes hung out on a washline.

Real dusk was drawing down, and a lamp was lit in that cottage, but only one man emerged to take in that washing before dewfall. A lone, unconcerned man, who waved cheerfully at the various members of the Watch who were-with their armor off, down to their breeches and shoulder braces-dumping out kitchen wash water into a pit ere returning to their barracks. So the duty war wizards in Hultail were sadly depleted in numbers, it seemed. Three down to one, without anyone seeming alarmed in the slightest. Which meant they were on duty nearby or out on a mission.

Manshoon fetched himself another decanter from what he’d been able to salvage from Dardulkyn’s cellar, sat back at his ease, and farscried around Hultail anew. Finding a continued distinct lack of wizards.

So, as real darkness came down, he peered along the Wyvernwater banks and up and down the Thunderflow, seeking blazing torches or activity. And still found nothing. The roads, then, the one to Thunderstone first.

There! Winking, bobbing lights … lanterns on lancepoles, held by mounted Purple Dragons. Armed and equipped for rough country, and riding in a ring around, yes, two wizards of war. Crown mages making speed through the night in wild country, which meant great urgency. They were heading for Thunderstone-and almost certainly, beyond Thunderstone, Castle Irlingstar. Well, now …

Yes, well now, indeed. Manshoon allowed himself a gleefully ruthless smile.

“So, my lords?” Young Lord Raegl Halgohar was handsome and charming and seldom had to pay to fill his bed. His dalliances of the early evening had been with two sisters from Suzail who’d clawed scratches he was quite proud of all down his back, before he’d left them to the hungry mercies of his groom and his page. He himself had proceeded to this gathering of noble wagerers with just his bodyguards-who were happily gossiping with the bullyblades of fellow wagering nobles in the outermost chamber, over the very best spiced eel fest bites. “Your faithful spell hurlers were yawning like bored cats on my way in, so I know you’ve been spell-watching the fun. How went the slaying of Rensharra Ironstave?”

Someone cursed feelingly, by way of reply.

“It did not go,” Lord Haeldown explained rather smugly. “As in, she did not die. Again.”

“Thanks to our fat and aging champion of a Lord of Waterdeep?”

“Indeed,” Lord Loroun said shortly. “That old rogue is costing me a fortune.”

“Whose?”

They all laughed politely at the old joke. It was an open secret among the Suzailan nobility that Loroun had moved from slavery and buying and selling city buildings into targeted moneylending that involved slaying his debtors and seizing all he could of their holdings before kin or other creditors arrived.

Lord Taseldon and Lord Haeldown wore satisfied smiles.

“Ah,” Halgohar interpreted, sitting down across from them. “You wagered against, again?”

“We did,” Taseldon confirmed, pushing a decanter and a tallglass across the table. “Join us in a drink to our continued success?”

“Gladly.” Halgohar looked down the table. “Loroun, where are you finding all these incompetent assassins? Accomplished killers can’t be in that short supply.”

“After all the attempted settling of scores between rival lords gathered here in Suzail for the council, you’d be surprised,” came the dark reply. “So many bodies were dumped in the harbor a few nights back that they blocked two main sewer grates. The Dragons were so gleeful when they started recognizing faces that they hushed it all up.”

“Hmm,” Halgohar commented, as a darker thought struck him. “I wonder how often that sort of hushing happens?”

Loroun’s smile held no mirth at all. “You’d be surprised.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

I AM THE AMBUSH

Ah, ye used carrion crawler brain fluid. Good. The paralysis will soon pass, leaving this body as usable as before.

The voice inside Gulkanun’s head felt human, and male, and … old. Ancient and mighty, a mind of depth and power, accomplished in both worldly experience and in the Art. A mind that had seen much, done much, shaped magic for centuries …

You knew King Berost? Berost the Bold? You’re that old? Gulkanun thought.

I am. My name is Elminster. Aye, that Elminster. Best known these days as the Sage of Shadowdale. Widely rumored to be a madwits old mage who deludes himself into claiming to have been a Chosen of Mystra. I am mad, and old, and a mage-and that claim is true.

I … I … Gulkanun thought.

Be neither awed nor alarmed, Duth Gulkanun. Ye serve a worthy cause, and command respectable Art, and greater than that, good morals. Kindness, fairness, diligence; ye’d be surprised to know how truly rare these are, and ye have them all. Which is why I need ye-and Longclaws, and all the other worthy wizards of war of Cormyr, from Royal Magician Ganrahast to the rawest novices.

Need me? Need us? Gulkanun thought.

Aye. A door seemed to slowly swing wide in Gulkanun’s mind, spilling out bright glory … glory that rolled forward to embrace Duth Gulkanun, sweeping him along in a bright, rising flood that shared the goddess Mystra’s commandment to recruit the wizards of war to work for a better future for Cormyr and all the Realms, a commandment laced with Elminster’s own excitement.

Gulkanun found himself ecstatic, moved by a greater joy than he’d ever felt before, a gleeful plunge into glorious certainty. He could believe this invader in his mind, trust this powerful intellect touching him, because he could see that it was all true. There truly was a goddess of magic come back from oblivion, a good and true and wonderful Mystra, and she had indeed commanded Elminster, her once and again servant, to find blueflame and seal rifts to guard the Realms, to recruit the wizards of war and bring new glory to Cormyr, and …

I have never been able to so clearly know I’m being given truth, before. It is … wonderful, beyond all wonder I’ve ever felt before. This is trust. Gulkanun thought.

It is. Now, will ye stop being suspicious of this beautiful dark elf? She was a fell and evil servant